


Holy Children

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Biblical References, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there were four prodigies, born to a prophet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Children

Once upon a time, there were four prodigies.

Their father was a writer. He wore thin, black frames over dark, hollowed eyes when he typed, and he wandered around in an omnipresent fog of cigarette smoke. He liked hard liquor, along with words like bacchanalian and metanoia. He loved the world dearly but disliked how blind it could be, so he wrote over topics that most would never dare touch. His writing was critiqued morbidly; many agreed that he should be spreading the word of God, not writing ridiculous stories about two brothers. Still, he sat in underground poetry slams for inspiration, scratching graphite onto the flimsy, yellowed pages of a little black book. One morning, God came to him in the grey light of dawn and whispered to him the truth, the future. The writer was enraged, and he ran out onto his balcony, screaming obscenities to constellations and shaking his fist at a God he no longer believed in. Upon waking, he didn’t remember a thing, and he continued to write in a drunken haze, inspired by the unknown.

The eldest son was looked upon as a saint, and his younger siblings were masked in his shadow. People were amazed by his wise words, acting as if he was a vessel of God. His words, a dull entity, were spoken through the day, incessantly. His monologues consisted of higher powers, world views and platitudes of society. His speaking was ended by a passionate fire which lit him from within, burned him to an ashen shell. He wandered the remainder of his life, driven by his own mania across grass, ice, water, anything that stood in his path, calloused feet barely touching the ground. Where he stepped, the world emptied of colour, and his grey-eyed followers blindly marched behind like a delirious parade, thinking God had chosen him.

The second was seen as a madman. He loved God more than anything, and for him, he strewed his body with barbed wire, taking a vow of silence once his siblings had believed he’d fallen too far to fix. He walked the earth, golden locks shining in the light and alabaster skin littered with wounds. The more days passed, the worse his appearance became, vivid blue eyes now dim and grey, his blonde hair faded to the colour of ash. In his final hours, he cried out to his Father through dry, cracked lips, begging for him to show forgiveness. God said he’d be saved if he was willing to share his love with the rest of the world. The son fell even further into madness, hoarse voice screaming that the love was something that could never be shared, but it fell to deaf ears in the wisps of clouds in an otherwise-empty night sky. With his last blood shed, the ground assimilated with the metallic liquid, and small, crimson flowers grew beneath his litheless carcass.

The third child, the only daughter, was a martyr. Like her eldest brother, she spread the Word of God, preaching of the end. She never ceased moving, her voice constant cries of doom, and where she walked the earth grew green and fertile. Sometimes her voice was heard, through rarely accepted, and others her voice was simply vacated by the wind, the trees she so desperately never wanted to see go the only ones listening. When God turned his back on her, the girl was taken into the arms of nature and was renamed Mother Nature’s daughter. Her bones were picked by the indigenous, and a cathedral was built over them.

The final child was a messenger of the Lord. He prayed every night for peace to settle into the abysmal, marred gashes of his family, but instead he got a ceaseless war, one that made him fall into absolute madness and frustration. He abandoned the family as soon as believed he was old enough to care for himself. Shrouded in his own anger, he walked, and the wind rippled behind him, carrying his festering thoughts to the public as he passed. On his final night, God came to the son, holding out His hand to the weary, hoarse-voiced blonde and asking him to join Him. The boy refused, and with that, his spirit was breathed out into the cool air, scattering in the breeze.


End file.
